back.”
“Why didn’t they kill Broda too?”
Some tourists walked by. Dane stopped talking until they passed. “They don’t know what to do with him,” he said. “Listen, Nick, I know you feel like a sucker. But the reason that kid is still alive is you. They know you’ve stuw yy don’t ck with this thing, and that you’re not going to leave it alone. They can’t get rid of the kid while you’re still looking, and they can’t let him go. It’s a stalemate now.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Joe.” I eyed him suspiciously. “Let me get this straight. Jerry Rosen was a fair-haired boy when he worked for Ned’s World in South Carolina. When he moved to D.C. to work for Nathan, he saw the drug market up here and decided to get a piece of it. Those two guys who roughed me up-did he recruit them from the South Carolina warehouse?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
“There’s the Jamaicans who work with me.”
“I met them,” I said. “A tall albino and his shadow. So there’s them, Rosen, the two from Carolina, you-and the man who bankrolled the whole deal. Ned Plavin, right?”
“That’s right.”
I thought for a minute. “Are the drugs out of the warehouse yet?”
“Not entirely,” he said. “It was a hundred sticks to start out with. They moved fifty in two consecutive nights last week, and another twenty-five on Tuesday. Tomorrow night they move the last twenty-four.”
“How?”
“What do you mean?”
“The setup. Where, who comes for it, how it’s done, the money, all of it.”
“Shit, Nicky.” He studied my face. “The way it was done the other times, two buyers come. They bring a hundred-fifty grand in a suitcase. We meet in the back of the warehouse, where the VCRs are stacked. Our guys load them up, they leave the suitcase.”
“Guns?”
“Yeah, everyone.”
“What time does it go down?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Are you going to be there?”
“I’m gone, Nick. Sarah and I packed last night. I called in sick today. We’re leaving this afternoon, all of us.”
“Just walk, then everything’s all right.”
“No,” he said, “it’s never going to be all right. I was part of something that got a kid killed. Maybe someday I’ll put a gun in my mouth to help me forget. Probably not. But for the time being my job is to protect my family.”
“You’d better get going then, Joe.”
“One more thing,” he said, and grabbed my arm before I could pull it away. “These guys are just a bunch of dumbshit cowboys. You go up against them, man, you’re gonna die.”
“You know where they’ve got the kid?”
“No.” He took his hand off my arm. “I’m sorry, Nick. I really am.”
“So long, Joe.”
He turned and headed for the stairwell. When the door closed behind him, I wished him luck.
Louie was behind the front counter when I walked into the store. He gave me a nod with his chin, then stared at me over the tops of his reading glasses.
“How’s it going, Louie?”
“Oh, I’m makin’ it, Youngblood. How about you? Anything goin’ on?”
“I’m weighing the possibilities.”
“Well, you got all the time in the world now. To find out what’s important.”
“Is Johnny in?”
“In the back, takin’ his medicine.”
I negotiated the maze of floor display and passed under the BB-riddled caricature of Nathan. I took the stairs down to the stockroom.
McGinnes was sitting on a carton in the back. Malone was standing next to him, a live Newport between his long fingers. I walked through a stagnant cloud of tobacco and pot smoke to get to them. I shook Malone’s hand and shot a look at McGinnes.
“Andre knows everything,” McGinnes said unapologetically.
“He ran it all down to me,” Malone said quickly, “in the hopes that the two of us could talk you out of whatever it is you plannin’ to do.” He gave me the once-over, dragged on his cigarette, exhaled, and threw me a hundred dollar smile. “You really stepped in some shit this time, didn’t you, Country?”
“It’s deeper than you think.”
I told them just how deep it was. Malone’s brow was wrinkled the entire time I spoke. When I was finished, he ran a thumbnail between his front teeth, keeping his eyes on mine.
“So,” McGinnes said. “They’ve got the boy.”
“If you don’t mind, Johnny,” I said, “I’ll take what I came here for.”
McGinnes went to the corner of the stockroom, moved some boxes, and returned with something in his arms. He unwrapped the oilcloth it was in and brought it out.
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” he said. “So I brought a solid automatic. Nine-millimeter Browning Hi- Power. Push button magazine release.” With a quick jerk of his wrist the clip slid out into his palm. “Holds thirteen with one in the chamber. Right here is the safety-you can operate it with your thumb while your hand’s still on the grip. If you’re not sure the safety’s on, tretyith ony cocking the hammer.”
“Thanks.” I held out my hand.
“I brought an extra clip.” He pulled that out, placed it with the pistol, and put them both in my hand. “It’s your up, man.”
I rewrapped everything in the oilcloth and put it in my knapsack, then hu ng it over my shoulder.
“You guys coming upstairs?”
“I am,” Andre said.
“I think I’ll hang,” McGinnes said. “Catch a buzz.”
Malone and I climbed the stairs. As we neared the landing, we heard McGinnes coughing below. Malone stayed with me all the way to the front door, where he stopped me with a grip on my arm.
“Hey, Brother Lou,” he shouted at Louie, who was still behind the counter. “I’ll be takin’ a break.”
“You already had a break,” Louie said tiredly.
“Then I’ll be takin’ another.”
“What’s up, Andre?” I asked.
“Let’s go for a ride,” Malone said. “I got a proposition for you, Country.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Malone said, “Pull on over, man.”
We were in the southbound lane of North Capitol, near the Florida Avenue intersection. I pulled over and cut the engine. Malone rolled the window down, leaned his arm on its edge, and put fire to a Newport.
On the east side of the street was a casket company, a beauty parlor, and a sign that read, “FISH, UBS.” Hand-painted on the door, in dripping, wide red brushstrokes, was, “Closed for Good.” To our right stood a Plexiglas bus shelter on a triangle of dirt that the city called a park. A man in a brown plaid overcoat slept in front of the shelter’s bench, where another graybeard sat and drank from a bagged bottle. Further down the street, near P, a Moorish carryout and a “Hi-Tech” shoeshine parlor graced the block.
